


over the knee and back with you

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Rough Sex, Slut-Shaming, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Tumblr prompt: Office sex. Scully wants to help Mulder fight ennui.





	

There’s a restlessness that infects _both_  of them when they’ve been stuck in their dusty little office too long, a ferocious ache that tickles and itches and bites and _burns_  when left too long to fester.

Mulder staunchly believes this is no way for a man to live his life, pushing papers and pencils (and responsibilities, almost always on Scully). He’s a caged, fire-breathing animal, a petulant child and raging demon of a man all at once, and Scully’s proximity forces her to soak in his nervous, baleful energy like an unwitting sponge. 

But Mulder’s pissy attitude is just too much, this time around. Watching Skinner put him in a chokehold had been only _slightly_  worth his constant snide remarks or his miserable habit of slamming anything there is to slam. He’d even tried to slam a sunflower seed shell into a solo cup and the soft _plunk_  sound had been pathetic and hilarious. 

Scully almost yearns for the years he’d chase away the jitters by chasing down shoddy leads. At that thought she winces, though, and scolds herself immediately. 

But this is bad. He’s never outright attacked their boss before… at least, not out of _boredom._ She wants to calm him down, but first she needs to calm _herself_  down. She had shouted at Byers the other day and the poor man couldn’t hide the tears in his eyes. God, what Mulder does to her. Their moods are so interlinked it’s difficult to see themselves as separate people.  
  
… Wait. 

* * *

 

***

Her cheek types out frenzied little undecipherable codes from where he has it shoved against the keyboard.

“Makes more sense than your field reports,” she spits. Mulder growls, bringing up his free hand, the one that isn’t forcing her head down, to deliver three sharp smacks to the swell of her panty-clad ass. 

Oh, _fuck_. The pain has her head spinning and her body seeking more contact with the solid desk. Saliva pools in the keys and paints her cheeks and chin. She can’t close her mouth properly to stop it, can’t even think to try that, not with the way the ridge of his thick cock drags painfully slowly over her pussy. 

“On purpose,” he chokes on a guttural moan, an agonized keening sound that sticks in his throat. His fingers map the waistband of her pretty jewel-green lace panties, at first a gentle brushing sensation that quickly gives way to _rough, rough, rough_  as he yanks the elastic away from her body to come back to her with a sharp _snap_. “Put these on, bent over like a little – a little –” he sucks in a harsh breath, tightening his grip in the bronze of her hair. “A little _slut_.” 

The burning flash of anger that flows through her only registers as lust, unbearable, unceasing _lust,_  that pushes her to grind back against him instead of throwing him off and smacking him in the mouth. Through her underwear, his slacks, his underwear, she swears she can feel the spongy head of his cock, the veins of him, the pulsating skin and hot, hot heat. 

“A little slut,” he continues bitterly. His breaths are coming out in deep, immeasurable gulps that would terrify his doctor if she wasn’t trapped underneath him. “You wanted me to fuck you, Scully? You only had to ask.”

His hand rips out of her hair and the blood rushes back to her scalp in tingly little increments. She makes the grave mistake of lifting her head, seeking relief from the sharp little keys, only to have it crammed back down with a barked, “No!”

The sound of his zipper fills the room with their combined panting and the ‘ping, ping, ping’ of the computer alerting that they’ve reached their letter count. 

“Was gonna just push these aside,” he mumbles, when he’s freed his cock and resumed his position behind her. He drags his knuckles over the sticky middle of her panties, bending two fingers to push through the flimsy edge and stroke her at an angle. The calloused pads of his fingertips tease the swollen skin of her labia and part them with a gentle pressure. He holds his hand still. “I think I want to see you, though.”  
  
There’s an immense feeling of loss when he takes his fingers away from her to jerk that scrape of lace down over her legs. With her bent over the way she is, his hips pinning her almost suspended in the air, she can’t get any leverage to kick her panties off of her ankles. He catches her trying, and brings another hand down on her exposed ass, watching hungrily as it blooms a bright, fading red under his palm.  
  
Her eyes squeeze shut at the feel of his gaze on her, the one she’s seen him make at a guilty suspect, the one he makes when he’s just made a connection on a particularly grueling case. Suddenly she feels deliciously, irrevocably guilty, deserving of this new investigative technique of his, ready to do whatver it takes to plead her case. He stops her with a firm hand to her back when she pushes her ass back to entice him.  
  
“You’re so wet,“ he says gruffly, curving that hand around her stomach and moving it down, further down, until he’s cupping the entirety of her. She jumps under his touch, grinding into it, and this time he doesn’t stop her. “I want to try to connect the dots, Dana,” he murmurs distractedly. Pressing his cheek to the stiffened slope of her shoulder, he demands: “Help me connect the dots.”  
  
They’re so close like this, his hulking presence overlapping her little body, his strong arms encircling her waist. She whimpers and begs in futile little spurts as his voice covers them both, its own entity in this formerly private space, watching their activities from afar. 

“I haven’t been nice, Dana,” he starts, his damp, hot breath soaking through her blazer. He squeezes her again, a clumsy finger pushing into her slit like an afterthought. “I know that. You know that. You’re… tired of it.” A little more pressure from that finger and it’s resting right against her clit. She cries out miserably when he doesn’t do anything about it.

“You decided you wanted it to stop,” he continues. His arms tighten around her in warning when she rocks against his wrist for more pressure. “You were going to… what, Scully? Distract me?”  
  
“Yes,” she sobs. Shaking his head against her shoulder, his voice takes on a thoughtful, distant tone.

“No, that’s not it. Not distraction.” The angle isn’t right, so that errant finger can’t do anything but tap against her. With the amount of wetness he’s produced in her, the friction is maddening, almost imperceptible, a tease of what she wants most. “You wanted to calm me down. Tell me, Dana.” With shocking quickness his cock is buried inside of her, all the way to the hilt, an abrupt fullness that forces all of the air from her lungs. “Do I feel calm to you?” 

She’s  been on the brink since he cornered her at the desk and had her skirt around her waist before she knew what he was doing. It takes an embarrassingly short time for the tide to turn, just a few piercing thrusts of that beautiful cock and his fingers digging roughly at her clit, and then she is _gone_ , her pussy clenching around him in frantic, desperate little spasms. She’s rag-doll delirious from then on, humming happily into the keyboard and softly begging him to come, come for me Mulder, come for your little slut. I’ll let you keep them. I’ll let you keep the panties. You’re never going to forget this, Mulder, you’re going to come for me –

And he does, babbling nonsense into her rumpled clothes and twitching all over and fucking into her so hard that the last few thrusts force the desk back a little, files fall, the trashcan knocks over. Oh Scully, yes, I love you, I love you so much baby, please…

***

Kimberly is more than a little worried about her boss, now. He’s been sitting in his chair, staring at a little piece of paper for almost a half hour. He even canceled a meeting with a very coveted potential donor.

She screws up the courage to open his door without knocking, relying on the element of surprise to get him to look up at her, but he doesn’t move a bit. He’s in the exact same predicament she saw him last, hunched over his desk, rubbing his bulging temples, staring down that same sheet of paper. 

“Sir?” she says timidly. 

“I’m fine, Kimberly,” he sighs. “Cancel my three o’clock.”

Kimberly frowns, but nods and leaves the room. 

Skinner tells himself, has been telling himself for the past ten minutes, that he’s not on drugs. He hasn’t been drinking. He’ll read the note just one more time and he’ll get back to work.

But… he’s just so _confused_.

> _Hey Skinner,  
>  Sorry about earlier. That was wrong._
> 
> _-S.A. Fox Mulder_


End file.
